they are going through the unimaginable
by eponnia
Summary: Soulmate AU. Now that he is officially an Earl of Greystoke, they have to produce an heir, and soon. [Part VI of the "i was made for loving you" series. 2016 filmverse Jarzan one-shot.]


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: The title is from "It's Quiet Uptown" from** _ **Hamilton**_ **by Lin-Manuel Miranda.**

* * *

 _There are moments that the words don't reach_

 _There is suffering too terrible to name_

 _You hold your child as tight as you can_

 _Then push away the unimaginable_

* * *

"A proper lady should not smile so much after her wedding night."

"Aunt Cora!" Jane exclaims, setting down her china cup on the saucer with a loud clink. Across the tea table, her aunt watches Jane struggle not to flush, and John's confused gaze flickers between the two women as his grandfather and her uncle Elias awkwardly drink their tea. "Would you refrain from discussing this topic further? Particularly this one?"

Cora sniffs. "You should not advertise with obvious smiles and amorous glances what activities took place. And from the looks you two are exchanging, I gather it was not just during the night itself."

Jane pinches the bridge of her nose. "Might we bring this conversation to a close?"

"I was merely offering counsel," the older woman says, and her niece tries not to grit her teeth as a late morning breeze tugs at the lace arranged just so over the tea table. "You know that every day you wait to have children is another day people will talk."

"Perhaps, Cora…" Elias begins as Jane, eyes blazing, stands so quickly her chair falls backwards onto the grass.

"We were married _yesterday_. No one can decide on a whim to become with child, aunt. Kindly give us time before those questions begin."

She sweeps away from the tea table, John following without a word, and they leave Cora and his grandfather in the garden.

"If she wasn't my last living blood relative…" Jane says through her teeth as she marches back into the manor, her new husband at her heels. "That woman drives me up a wall."

"Jane?"

"Yes?" she answers with a sigh, looking up at John, and something flickers in his eyes. "I am not frustrated at you," she adds quickly, but he looks away. "What did you wish to ask of me?" she says, keeping her tone light.

"It does not matter." He starts to walk away, but she reaches out to put a hand on his arm, and he stops.

"It clearly does." She moves to stand in front of him, but his distant gaze is on something above her head. "What matters to you matters to me."

He finally meets her gaze, but hesitates before finally asking, "What did your aunt mean? About being happy and the topic of children?"

"In society, even a married couple being… intimate," she replies, putting a hand on his chest and toying with a button on his coat, "like you and I were last night, is not something to be discussed among other people. It is a private thing."

His brow furrows. "Then why did she bring up the topic?"

"She thought you and I were too outwardly happy in each other's company. That we should be more restrained." She pauses. "The fact is, I have heard most couples do not enjoy the act." Jane smiles. "You and I, fortunately, are not one of those couples."

He still appears confused. "And the topic of children?"

She smooths the lapels of his frock coat and thinks that the color black does not suit him; he looks his best in bright, warm hues, but bold jewel tones are not fashionable for men here in England. "The true reason nobility marry is to have children to take over your title and the estate when you die. Of course common folk have children as well, just not for the sake of a rank in society. It is to preserve your family name. To have a legacy, if you will."

She offers him a strained smile. "Cora brought up children because it is expected a wife should be with child as quickly as possible after the wedding. Days or weeks afterwards is preferable, but a year is manageable. Heirs need to be available in case of a catastrophe. No one lives forever, after all."

Her hands linger on his chest, and his large ones cover hers, their fingers weaving together. "That is true," he says in a low tone, and she knows he is thinking of his parents.

"It has not been even twenty-four hours since our wedding, John. We have time."

* * *

Months pass with nothing to show for it.

There was a brief flurry of excitement when she starts throwing up five months later, but she recovers quickly, and the illness is blamed on fish served at a dinner she had attended but John had not due to a migraine. No one outside of their family says anything to their faces, but Jane can feel their stares when the Claytons attend society functions and the front of her dresses are still flat. It is particularly embarrassing when she is in the general vicinity of any pregnant wives at a ball or a tea, listening to the women discussing their previous children while she has nothing to contribute.

Though John does not say anything, his hand always finds hers when news of yet another of their acquaintances' third or fourth or fifth pregnancy is passed around the room at a ball or dinner. And as the first year of their marriage draws to a close, Jane even starts to pray each month that her bleedings will not appear, but they always return on schedule with a vengeance that seems to mock her for her empty womb.

But that is not the only thing occupying her thoughts. John still relies on her, especially in public settings when something catches him off guard or he does not understand a social cue. People often come up to him with questions about what it was like being raised by monkeys, and as he grows a bit more comfortable in England, she can tell the way others treat him as an oddity is starting to bother him.

But in contrast, he has stopped asking her as many questions. When his running list of inquiries slows, she initially thinks he is understanding more and needs her less as a well of information. That seems to be the case in some ways, but he also starts to become quieter even when they are alone together. He used to ask her endless queries, but now they barely seem to talk. She doesn't want to force him to hold conversations, but misses simply spending time with him now that he is outdoors so often.

But one morning, she can't stand the silence any longer.

When she finds him in the library, he looks up from the book he had been intently focused on as she sits down in the old leather chair beside his. She has never met anyone else who concentrates so on reading. "Might we take a moment to discuss something?" she asks.

With anyone else, she would start talking a mile a minute, but she always tries to be careful to make sure he wants to hold a dialogue. Early on, he could become overwhelmed by too many words, and she wants him to feel like an active member of a conversation instead of treating him like a sponge to soak up her flow of dialogue.

"Of course," he says, setting his book down on his knee.

Instead of immediately speaking, she watches the flames in the fireplace for a moment. She would barrel into the topic with anyone else, but this is John, and even for her he is sometimes hard to read.

"Is there a reason…" She looks down at her hands folded in her lap. "Is there a reason we have not been talking?"

He raises an eyebrow. "We are speaking right now."

"I meant generally. We do not have long conversations like we used to," she explains as his expression changes, and she is taken aback by the frustration settling over his features. "I miss spending time with you and simply talking," she offers, a pang in her chest, and wonders what she could have done to exasperate him. "But now we rarely see each other."

"It was only so you could be loose."

She tilts her head. "Loose?"

His gaze hardens. "No, not loose. What is the word…? "

"Relaxed?"

His jaw clenches. "No."

"Free?" she suggests, wondering if he actually wants her assistance at all as he grows more irritated by the second.

"Yes, free!" He snaps his book closed, setting it down on the ornate side table so firmly the table shakes. "You should not have to spend your time interpreting for me."

"Interpreting? Your English is so vastly improved–"

"But it is not enough," he interrupts, glaring at the fireplace.

"You think you are holding me back," she breathes. "Is that what this is about?"

He nods. "If you did not have to help me speak like any other normal person, you could live your own life."

"My own life? In case you forgot, I am a teacher. I _want_ to help."

"You should not have to," he counters. "You should be calling on friends instead of looking after your fool of a husband."

The only sound in the library that follows is the crackling fire.

"You are not a fool," she says firmly, throat closing up as she watches his expression turn to what she now recognizes as self-loathing. He had hints of this before their wedding, but now it is back in full force.

He lets out a bitter laugh. "Do not deny it, Jane."

"I have known fools, and you are not one of them."

She gets up from her chair, going to stand by his, and she takes one of his hands in hers. His focus, however, shifts to the fireplace.

"You had, quite simply, every disadvantage possible, and you still have progressed far past what most would be able to achieve. As a teacher, I have seen firsthand that older students have a more difficult time learning a second language. It does seem to be easier for younger children, but for even adolescents it is not a simple process. John, you learned an entire language as an _adult_. You had no concept of human speech only two years ago, and now you are fluent. That is nothing short of extraordinary."

He continues to stare at the fire.

"And in response to your earlier statement," she says after a moment, "I do not have any friends to call on here. Acquaintances, yes, but no close companions. You are not only my husband and my soulmate, you are my friend."

He finally meets her gaze.

"And I would rather spend the rest of my days by your side than with any society lady in all of England."

She stands by his chair for a moment longer before he pulls her onto his lap, and she grabs his face to capture his mouth with hers.

* * *

A week later, he finds her crying in their bedroom.

"My bleedings were late," she says through her tears as he wraps his arms around her. "Only by two days, and I thought… I thought I could be…" She draws a shuddering breath. "But I am not."

He holds her even tighter as they cling to each other.

* * *

In the next six years, John's knowledge of English expands drastically.

Their family does not.

As the years pass, he grows to be mostly at ease with even going to London without Jane, able to navigate conversations without her aid. But he makes a point to share details of his day with her in the evenings, and she treasures those quiet talks with him. He now has friends of his own, and takes great interest in cultivating the Greystoke land. He focuses on preserving the ancient oak trees on their property, and personally works with the stable master to ensure their horses are well treated. She observes that he is quieter than he had been so long ago in Africa, but whenever she asks him if he is content in England, he always replies in the affirmative.

After so many years with no children of their own to show for it, she pushes thoughts of producing heirs out of her mind and fills her time with her friends' offspring. Now that she is the wife of an earl, she cannot be employed as a governess. But after she helps one of her friends' young daughters read a book in the Greystoke estate library, somehow she ends up with a flock of acquaintances' children asking her endless questions that she is more than happy to answer. She advises friends on how to carefully raise children who don't learn as quickly as the others instead of writing them off as soft in the head, donates to and visits orphanages in London, and supplies teenage girls with books that they would never have access to otherwise.

But then in the last year of the decade, six years after she married John, her bleedings are late.

She doesn't tell her husband, because she doesn't want to get his hopes up only to dash them again. Jane tries not to get excited herself; this will probably end as a fluke the way it did before. But the days pass and turn into weeks with no bleeding, and she asks her closest friend with five children to tea.

That evening as she and John are sitting in bed together, she thinks of twenty vague ways to imply the news, but decides against them all.

"Do you remember I invited Caroline to tea today?"

"I do."

"She was very… informative," Jane says as evenly as she can manage, but he still looks up from his book as a smile colors her voice.

"Is she with child again? What is this, the sixth time?"

"No." She shakes her head, unable to hide the grin spreading across her face. "I am the one with child."

He stares at her for a moment, not even breathing, and a hundred emotions swirl in his blue gaze. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

He looks at her in concern as tears prick at her eyes. "Are you not happy?"

"I am," she says quickly, hastily swiping at a tear that falls, but he reaches up to cradle her cheek, wiping away another tear with his thumb. "We have waited for so many years for this to finally happen," she adds, throat closing up. "I am sorry it has taken so long. I know how greatly you wanted a family of your own…"

He rests his forehead against hers. "This child is an addition, an expansion, but _you_ will always be my family."

She throws her arms around his neck and buries her face in the curve of his shoulder.

* * *

Nine months later, a storm ravages their estate.

It is raining hard when he leaves at dawn to survey the damage on their property and the surrounding villages, and she does not say anything when he kisses her goodbye. She winces at what feels like a cramp low in her swollen stomach as the door closes behind him, but does not call for him; his work today is more important than her discomfort.

She tosses and turns for an hour as the rain continues, unable to get comfortable. She normally would be up by this hour – she and John are both early risers – but she has been unusually exhausted over the past few days, and this morning is even worse. Her entire body aches more than during the rest of her entire pregnancy, and she can't shake the growing feeling that something is wrong. Something warm runs down her thigh, and she breathes a sigh of relief as she pulls back the blanket. Surely her water has broken, and this will all be over in a few hours–

Blood stains her nightgown, and her maid comes running at her scream.

One servant is immediately dispatched to fetch the doctor, another to locate the midwife, and a third to find John. But the wind picks up as Jane starts to deliver what she is certain is an already dead child, hyperventilating as the doctor and midwife arrive, but her husband is nowhere to be seen. The wind howls as the doctor confirms their newborn daughter was dead before she even emerged into the world. The midwife tries to comfort the inconsolable mother, saying that she is lucky the birth happened so quickly. But Jane is incapable of speech, her grief as all-consuming as the storm raging outside the window. The midwife takes the baby away so the sobbing Jane doesn't have to see the body, the doctor following as the childless mother struggles to breathe through her tears.

She hears the doctor's voice in the hallway. "Lord Greystoke, it is not seemly for you to be with her as of yet–"

The door slams open and John is at her side.

Every nerve ending in her body feels like it on fire, and she can't stop crying even with him kneeling beside the bed. Even his hands are wet from the rain as he runs his fingers through her hair, his clothes drenched as he hoarsely whispers, "I am here now. I am here. I am here."

She hears their servants shuffling out of the room, the door softly closing behind them to leave the grief-stricken pair alone. John's hand moves to her back, gently running down her spine, but she cries out when his fingers brush her aching hips.

He immediately pulls away, but she grips his hand like a lifeline. "Do not leave me," she begs, clinging to him.

"Nothing will keep me from you," he promises, voice breaking as something glimmers in his eyes, and she realizes she has never seen him cry before today.

But Jane feels like she will shatter from the tidal wave of sorrow crashing over, so she buries her face in a pillow and screams.

* * *

She has never shed this many tears in her entire life.

Jane was too young to miss her mother when Elizabeth Porter died, and though she cry at her father's funeral, it was nothing compared to this. John refuses to leave the manor in the first few days after their Elizabeth's death; he only departs Jane's side when his aging grandfather says that he cannot oversee the windstorm damage alone, suggesting the rebuilding might provide his grandson with a much needed distraction to his grief. Cora sails to England when they write her, and she looks after her niece as the two Earls of Greystoke look after the storm recovery on their property and the affected villages.

But John always comes back to Jane at the end of each day, holding her as she cries herself to sleep. He doesn't say much in those moments, but she does not need the pretty words her aunt tries to console her with; knowing that he is going through this with her is enough.

It is his turn to care for her, now.

Her body recovers before her heart does. The doctor encourages her to leave the manor for a change of scenery from the room where their daughter died, and so she starts to take walks in the garden. Cora or her grandfather-in-law usually accompany her, but she looks forward to the days John joins her, his work in the rebuilding slowly finishing. They still do not talk often, but there is nothing to say, and Jane is not bothered by the quiet now.

Cora urges her to find something else to focus on besides mourning, and Jane tries to teach her impromptu classes with the children she had once worked with. The only way she can get through it is by thinking of them as students and students only, not children of her friends that survived where hers did not. But instructing is in her bones, and if she focuses on simply giving information then she can manage.

Mostly.

The societal mourning period ends, but not for Jane. Even though she does not have to wear black any longer – and part of her wants to, want to forever grieve and never mend, because _her daughter is dead_ – she makes herself wear different colors. Yet she finds she is now drawn to blue and dark hues whereas before she enjoyed brighter clothes. But things have changed irrevocably, just as she has.

John draws into himself even more. She realizes belatedly that her intense grief has weighed down on him even as he dealt with his own, and she is disgusted with herself. What kind of wife is she to focus only on her own mourning, to be so selfish that she thought of her only sorrow instead of also that of her husband? But when she tries to talk to him, he avoids the topic, and she decides to not force him. If seeing her recover will help him, then she will smile and laugh and pretend like everything is fine.

And if she tries hard enough, she might even convince herself that it is true.

* * *

Four months after the funeral, they are walking back to their room for the night when she asks, "How was your meeting in London?"

"I received an offer to tour the Congo," he replies after a moment, and her eyes widen. "From the king of Belgium, no less. They wish for me to pose for photographs and make it seem like everything is grand."

She raises an eyebrow. "Make it seem it is so? What do you mean?"

"There was a man from America at the meeting, a Dr. Williams, and he informed me that all is not well in Africa. That the king is destroying the land and enslaving the people."

She looks up sharply from adjusting the sleeve of her dress. "Enslaving? But slavery is illegal–"

"Here in England, and in America, yes. But not according to King Leopold." He sighs. "I always wished to return, but I never dreamed it would be for this reason."

She stops outside the door leading to their chambers. "John, what do you mean you always wished to return? Why did you never mention it?"

He shrugs. "You belonged here, and so I decided to stay for your sake."

"I _belonged_ here? Boma is my home as much as it is yours!"

"Did you wish to go back to Africa? Do you still wish to?"

"Of course!" she bursts out. "Do you really think that I desired to stay in _England_ instead of going to the place I love most on earth?"

"Then why did _you_ never say anything?"

"For your sake! You had to be around people, and it was the right thing to bring you to England. You had to be reunited with your family and discover the life you were born into."

"I appreciate that you brought me here in the first place," he says, "and I am of course grateful to meet my grandfather. But I never wanted to stay. I always wanted to go home."

In the silence that follows, she can't help but laugh. "Look at the two of us. We were so focused on each other's happiness we never realized we wanted the same thing. I assume you told them you would take the offer."

But he is not smiling with her. "Yes, but–"

"When do we sail out?"

"Jane…" He pauses. "I do not wish for you to come."

She stops in her tracks to stare at him. "Are you out of your mind?"

"It is not safe."

"But it is safe enough for _you_?" She throws open the door and strides into the room, not even bothering to look back to see if he follows.

But he does. "This appears as if it could be far more dangerous than expected," he replies as their startled servants step back from making up the bed.

Jane rolls her eyes. "It is _Africa_. Of course it is dangerous. Miss Manson, would you mind helping me pack? I realize it is late, but I do not wish to waste any time."

"Getting involved with this sort of… business," he counters, glancing at their servants, "is not a holiday."

"What, do you think you will end the slave trade singlehandedly?" Jane says bluntly as her maid awkwardly goes to the armoire to pull out clothes. "Miss Manson, as this is a diplomatic expedition, we had better put my corsets in the trunk. I would hate to look less than presentable when representing Her Majesty," she adds, tone firm as she gives her husband a pointed look.

"Miss Manson, would you mind giving us a moment?" John asks, but there is no irritation in his voice. Jane's maid and the other servants take the hint and leave the room, and Jane faces her husband. But he does not immediately continue the conversation, an odd look in his eyes; her anger melting, she crosses their bedroom to him, but his gaze is distant and melancholy.

"John?"

He does not reply, and she reaches up to cup his face in her hands. "There is something else. I can see it in your eyes."

He finally looks at her. "Do you think I would ever risk your safety in your condition?"

She actually flinches a bit. "It has been months since…"

"But your body cannot endure any more trauma," he says in a low voice. "Your health is of utmost importance."

She lowers her hands to her sides. "I appreciate your concern, but it has been four months, two weeks and five days since… since that night. It is not as if it was yesterday." She turns away. "I have recovered. Physically. And a change of scenery would do us both a world of good, would it not?"

"It is not possible," he replies, heading to the door.

"In case you forgot, I brought us both all the way from Boma to here." She lifts her chin as he looks back at her. "I can do the reverse."

He closes the door behind him.

* * *

When he finally comes to bed that evening, she doesn't even look at him when he enters the room. She does not say a word when he settles in beside her, or even when he gently puts his hand on her shoulder, and she sees her name in gold on his wrist.

"Jane…"

She turns onto her side away from him, and he removes his hand.

* * *

He finds her the next morning in a tree at dawn.

He climbs onto the branch she is perched on as easily as breathing, and she thinks of how their roles are reversed from when he proposed. They look at each other for a moment, and then he reaches for her hand. A part of her wants to pull away, but she can't help but grasp his fingers.

"I cannot bear for anything to happen to you," he says, voice low. "Swear to me you will not leave the village."

There are not enough words in the English language to express her gratitude, so she kisses him instead, certain in the fact that returning to the Congo will fix everything.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have another fic unrelated to this series, called** _ **come morning light (you and i'll be safe and sound)**_ **, that deals with Tarzan/John and Jane's second pregnancy and the birth of who I assume from the movie is Jack from the books, and so I will not be going into specifically those moments in the** _ **i was made for loving you**_ **series. You can consider** _ **come morning light**_ **as an almost companion piece to this series, however; the only difference is that one is a soulmate AU and the other is just a canon era missing scene fic.**


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